The army appeared at dawn, a dark cloud spreading across the distant horizon. It was massive, larger than anything we had ever seen before. The enemy moved slowly but with terrible certainty, like death itself approaching without hurry because it knew escape was impossible.
Thousands of corrupted wolves marched toward us. Their eyes glowed an unnatural red in the pale morning light. What made it worse was the silence. There were no howls, no snarls, no sounds of aggression. They simply marched forward in eerie quiet, cold and emotionless, like they were already dead inside.
Vira led them from the front. She was tall and beautiful in a terrible way, deadly grace in every movement. Dark mist swirled around her like living shadow. Beside her walked Thorne, older than her, with a hard face and a cruel smile that promised nothing but pain.
